Long may her name, which diftant climes fhall praife,
Live in our notes, and bloffom in our lays;
And, like an od'rous plant, whose blushing flow'r
Paints ev'ry dale, and fweetens ev'ry bow'r,
Borne to the skies in clouds of foft perfume
For ever flourish, and for ever bloom!
Thefe grateful fongs, ye maids and youths, renew,
While fresh-blown vi'lets drink the pearly dew;
O'er Azib's banks while love-lorn damfels rove,
And gales of fragrance breathe from Hager's grove.
So fung the youth, whofe fweetly-warbled ftrains
Fair Mena heard, and Saba's fpicy plains.
Sooth'd with his lay the ravifh'd air was calm,
The winds fearce whisper'd o'er the waving palm;
The camels bounded o'er the flow'ry lawn,
Like the fwift oltrich, or the fportful fawn;
Their filken bands the lift'ning rofe-buds rent,
And twin'd their bloffoms round his vocal tent:
He fung, till on the bank the moonlight fiept,
And clofing flow'rs beneath the night-dew wept,
Then ceas'd, and flumber'd in the lap of relt
Till the thrill lark had left his low-built neft.
Now hates the fwain to tune his rapt'rous tales
In other meadows, and in other vales.'
In the tale called the Palace of Fortune,' and in the allegory, termed the Seven Fountains' our Tranflator, (for fo he would modeftly confider himself) has exercised a similar, or perhaps a ftill greater liberty, than in this poem; but from these pieces, an intelligent and candid Reader will yet learn to respec the genius and poetry of Eaftern writers, as well as the happy talents of their lively and energetic imitator. In the fong of Hafiz, and in the ode of Mefibi, he has kept with more exactnefs to his originals; and what may furprise those who have imbibed prepoffeffions to the difcredit of the Afiatic poets, they difcover a correctnefs and fimplicity, which would not disgrace the finest productions of the most cultivated genius's of Greece or of Rome.
The ode of Petrarch to the Fountain of Valchiufa, and Laura, an elegy by the fame poet, are here rendered with much fire and fpirit; and Mr. Jones has inferted them in the prefent publication, with the view of forming a comparison between the Oriental and Italian poetry. The latt of thefe pieces, we shall beg leave to prefent to our Readers.
In this fair feafon, when the whifp'ring gales
Drop fhow'rs of fragrance o'er the bloomy vales,
IMITATIONS.
Ver. 1. Perarch. Sonnet 270.
Zefiro torna, e' l bel tempo rimena,
E' i fiori, e l' erbe, fua dolce famiglia;
From bow'r to bow'r the verral warblers play;
The fkies are cloudlefs, and the meads are gay;
The nightingale in many a melting strain
Sings to the groves," Here Mirth and Beauty reign;"
But me, for ever bath'd in gushing tears,
No mirth enlivens, and no beauty cheers:
The birds that warble, and the flow'rs that bloom,
Relieve no more this folitary gloom.
I fee, where late the verdant meadow fmil'd,
A joyless defert, and a dreary wild.
For thofe dear eyes, that pierc'd my heart before,
Are clos'd in death, and charm the world no more:
Loft are those treffes, that outfhone the morn,
And pale thofe cheeks, that might the skies adorn.
*Ah death! thy hand has crop'd the faireft flow'r,
That fhed its fmiling rays in beauty's bow'r;
Thy dart has laid on yonder fable bier
All my foul lov'd, and all the world held dear,
Celestial sweetness, love-inspiring youth,
Soft-ey'd benevolence, and white-rob'd truth.
+ Hard fate of man, on whom the heav'ns bestow A drop of pleasure for a sea of wo!
Ah, life of care, in fears or hopes confum'd,
Vain hopes, that wither ere they well have bloom'd!
How oft, emerging from the fhades of night,
Laughs the gay morn, and fpreads a purple light,
But foon the gath'ring clouds o'erfhade the skies,
Red lightnings play, and thund'ring ftorms arife!
How oft a day, that fair and mild appears,
Grows dark with fate, and mars the toil of years!
IMITATIONS.
E garrir Progne, e pianger Filomela ;
E primavera candida, e vermiglia;
Ridono i prati, e'l ciel fi rafferena;
Giove s' allegra di mirar fua figlia;
L'aria, e l'acqua, e la terra e d'amor piena;
Ogni animal d'amar fi reconfiglia :
Ma per me, laffo, tornano i piu gravi
Sofpiri, che del cor profondo tragge
Quella ch' al ciel fe ne porto le chiavi :
E cantar' augelletti, e fiorir piagge,
E'n belle donne oneste atti foavi,
Sono un deferto, e fere afpre e felvagge.
* Ver. 17. Sonnet. 243.
Difcolorato ai, morte, il piu bel volto
Che mai fi vede, e' i piu begli occhi fpenti;
Spirto piu accefo di virtuti ardenti
Del piu leggiadro, e piu bel nodo ai fciolto!
+ Ver. 28. Sonnet. 230.
O noftra vita, ch'è fi bella in vifta!
Com' perde agevolmente in un' mattina
Quel che'n molt' anni a gran pena s' acquista,
Not far remov'd, yet hid from diftant eyes,
Low in her fecret grot a Naiad lies.
Steep arching rocks, with verdant mofs o'ergrown,
Form her rude diadem, and native throne:
There in a gloomy cave her waters fleep,
Clear as a brook, but as an ocean deep.
But when the waking flow'rs of April blow,
And warmer funbeams melt the gather'd fnow,
Rich with the tribute of the vernal rains,
The nymph exulting burfts her filver chains:
Her living waves in fparkling columns rife,
And fhine like rainbows to the funny skies.
From cliff to cliff the falling waters roar,
Then die in murmurs, and are heard no more.
Hence, foftly flowing in a dimpled ftream,
The cryftal Sorga fpreads a lively gleam,
From which a thousand rills in mazes glide,
And deck the banks with fummer's gayeft pride;
Brighten the verdure of the fmiling plains,
And crown the labour of the joyful fwains.
Firft on those banks (ah, dream of fhort delight!)
The charms of Laura ftruck my dazzled fight,
Charms, that the blifs of Eden might restore,
That heav'n might envy, and mankind adore.
I faw-and O! what heart could long rebel?
I faw, I lov'd, and bade the world farewel.
Where'er fhe mov'd, the meads were fresh and
gay,
And ev'ry bow'r exhal'd the fweets of May;
Smooth flow'd the streams, and foftly blew the gale;
And rifing flow'rs impurpled every dale;
Calm was the ocean, and the sky ferene;
An univerfal fimile o'erfpread the shining scene:
But when in death's cold arms entranc'd fhe lay,
(Ah, ever dear, yet ever fatal day!)
O'er all the air a direful gloom was spread;
Pale were the meads, and all their bloffoms dead;
The clouds of April fhed a baleful dew,
All nature wore a veil of deadly hue.
Go, plaintive breeze, to Laura's flow'ry bier,
Heave the warm figh, and shed the tender tear.
There to the awful fhade due homage pay,
And foftly thus addrefs the facred clay :
Ver. 33. See a description of this celebrated fountain in a poem of Madame
Entre de hauts rochers, dont l' aspect eft terrible,
Des pres toujours fleuris, des arbres toujours verds,
Une fource orguillieufe et pure,
Dont l'eau fur cent rochers divers
D'une mouffe verte couverts,
S'epanche, bouillonne, et murmure;
Des agneaux bondissans fur la tendre verdure,
Et de leurs conducteurs les ruftiques concerts, &c,
"Say, envied earth, that doft those charms infold,
Where are thofe cheeks, and where thofe locks of gold?
Where are thofe eyes, which oft the Mufe has fung?
Where those sweet lips, and that enchanting tongue?
Ye radiant treffes, and thou, nectar'd fmile,
Ye looks that might the melting fkies beguile,
You rob'd my foul of reft, my eyes of fleep,
You taught me how to love, and how to weep."
+ No fhrub o'erhangs the dew-befpangled vale.
No bloffom trembles to the dying gale,
No flow'ret blushes in the morning rays,
No ftream along the winding valley plays,
But knows what anguish thrills my tortur'd breast,
What pains confume me, and what cares infest.
↑ At blush of dawn, and in the gloom of night,
Her pale-ey'd phantom fwims before my fight,
Sits on the border of each purling rill,
Crowns ev'ry bow'r, and glides o'er ev'ry hill.
Flows the loud riv'let down the mountain's brow?
Or pants the Zephyr on the waving bough?
Or fips the lab'ring bee her balmy dews,
And with foft ftrains her fragrant toil purfues?
Or warbles from yon fitver-bloffom'd thorn
The wakeful bird, that hails the rifing morn?
IMITATIONS.
Ver. 75. Sonnet. 260.
Quanta invidia ti porto, avara terra,
Ch' abbracci quella, cui veder m'e tolto,
And Sonnet, 259.
Ov' e la fronte, che con picciol cenno
Volgea 'l mio core in questa parte, e'n quella
Ov' e 'l bel ciglio, e l'una e l' altra ftelia,
Ch' al corfo del mio viver lume denno? &c.
Ver 83. Sonnet. 248.
Non e fterpe, ne faffo in quefti monti,
Non ramo o fronda verde in quefte piagge;
Non fior' in quefte valli, o foglia d' erba;
Stilla d'acque non ven di queste fonti,
Ne fiere an quefti bofchi fi felvagge,
Che non fappian quant' e mia pena acerba.
Ver 89. Sonnet. 241.
Or' in forma di ninfa, o d'altra diva,
Che del piu chiaro fondo di Sorga esca,
E pongafi a feder' in fa la riva;
Or'l'o veduta fu per l'erba frefca
Calcar'i fior, com' una donna viva,
Moftrando in vita, che di me le'ncrefca.
Ver. 93. Sonnet. 239.
Se lamentar' augelli, o verdi fronde
Mover foavemente all' aura estiva,
O roco mormorar di lucid'onde
S'ode d'una fiorita e fresca riva,
La v'io feggia d'amor penfofo, e fchriva;
Lei che'l ciel ne moftro, terra nafconde,
Veggio, e odo, intendo, ch' ancor viva
Di ti lontano a' fotpir miei rifponde.
My Laura's voice in many a foothing note
Floats through the yielding air, or feems to float.
"Why fill thy fighs, the fays, this lonely bow'r ?
Why down thy bofom flows this endless show'r ?
Complain no more; but hope erelong to meet
Thy much lov'd Laura in a happier feat.
Here fairer scenes detain my parted shade,
Suns that ne'er fet, and flow'rs that never fade:
Through cryftal fkies I wing my joyous flight,
And revel in eternal blaze of light,
See all thy wand'rings in that vale of tears,
And smile at all thy hopes, at all thy fears;
Death wak'd my foul, that flept in life before,
And op'd thefe brighten'd eyes to fleep no more."
She ends: the fates, that will no more reveal,
Fix on her clofing lips their facred feal.
"Return, fweet fhade! I wake, and fondly fay,
O, cheer my gloom with one far-beaming ray!
Return, thy charms my forrow will difpel,
And fnatch my fpirit from her mortal cell;
Then, mix'd with thine, exulting the fhall fly,
And bound enraptur'd through her native fky."
She comes no more: my pangs more fierce return;
Tears gufh in ftreams, and fighs my bofom burn.
*Ye banks, that oft my weary limbs have borne,
Ye murm'ring brooks, that learnt of me to mourn,
Ye birds, that tune with me your plaintive lay,
Ye groves where Love once taught my steps to ftray,
You, ever sweet and ever fair, renew
Your ftrains melodious, and your blooming hue;
But not in my fad heart can blifs remain,
My heart, the haunt of never-ceafing pain!
Henceforth, to fing in fmoothly-warbled lays
The fmiles of youth, and beauty's heavenly rays;
IMITATIONS.
Deh! perche innanzi tempo ti confume?
Mi dice con pictate, a che pur verfi
Dagli occhi trifti un dolorofo fiume?
Di me non pianger tu; che miei di ferfi,
Morendo, eterni, e nell' eterno lume,
Quando moftrai di chiuder gl'occhi, aperfi.
Ver. 123. Sonnet. 261.
Valle, che de' lamenti miei fe piena;
Fiume, che fpeffo del mio pianger crefci;
Fere felveftre, vaghi augelli, e pefci,
Che l'una, e l'altra verde riva affrena;
Aria de' miei fofpir' calda e ferena;
Dolce fentier, che fi amaro riefci;
Colle, che mi piacefti, or mi rincrefci,
Ov' ancor per ufanza Amor mi mena;
Ben riconofco in voi l' ufate forme,
Non, laffo, in me, che da fi lieta vista,
Son fatto albergo d'infinita doglia.
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